Fantasy TOTTDLMTH Episode 1 (Iris)

[Zariel]

Before anyone opened the door, Irelia became aware of three, no, four, figures approaching her. Three men, and a woman, all of them familiar faces: Preston, Markas, Eryn, and Laure. The bubbly, green-haired Dovean was a considerable distance behind the three males, hence the reason Irelia was late to notice her.

Though she wasn't surprised, Irelia's head jerked, startled, ever so slightly when Markas started banging on the door, complaining impatiently.

Typical Markas, Irelia thought, unsettled as her thoughts recollected the Dragonslayer's burdens. His cold eyes and glowering countenance would induce sombre emotions into any who stared a heartbeat too long. Such a dismal aura was the product of losing everything dear to him by the voracious flames of a mighty dragon. The Dawnbringer could sympathise with Sylvia's Mad Dog, for she suffered a similar past.

Thankfully, her spirits elevated once more when she was greeted by the Arachnida, Preston.

"All the better after seeing you, Preston," Irelia replied in a gentle, polite tone.

Soon enough, Slyvia answered the door, and also rebuked Markas for his actions. Irelia smiled, following the others into the Slyvia's home. Even at a mere glance, it was evident that Sylvia had poured much effort to make this get-together enjoyable. Again, stirring guilt into Irelia, knowing that she would need to leave so soon.

The Faean pursed her lips as she set her eyes upon the food-laden table. There was a wide selection of dishes and drinks available, surely enough to palate each individual's preferences. A tantalising aroma permeated the room—It made Irelia's mouth water.

Still, she made her way over to the drinks, just as Sylvia insisted. Almost instinctively, her senses were alerted, as she was lured by the sweet scent coming from a select few jugs. In particular, a jug containing a pale red liquid piqued her interest. With her gloved hands, she filled a glass cup with the mixed fruit juice and raised it to her lips before taking a single, modest sip. Having appraised the flavour, Irelia felt delightfully rejuvenated by the sweet yet sour taste.

"It's good," she whispered to herself, reinforcing her opinion.

Then, while relishing her drink, she remembered to inform Sylvia of her premature departure from the soirée. The Faean found a quieter spot by the window and then turned her attention to the small crowd.

"Sylvia," she called out. "Would it be alright for me to speak to you for one moment?"

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
59th Street, Dragonsreach, Haven
Nessi Zariel ​

Sylvia turned her attention to Irelia, of whom had donned a pair of troubled eyes. While it was not something Sylvia could decipher fully amidst the party, the hero was not exactly the type to turn a blind eye to the matter, no matter how miniscule it may turn out to be. Such was very nature of her proactive personality. Even now, after more than a year, she still see herself watching over her allies as if there was still a war raging on. The ignition of adrenaline that spurs her into actions, even when they are off-duty. Alas, such thoughts are best to be cast into the Bristolian Channel. She tapped Ra'el's arms lightly, giving him a smile slightly.

"I'll be with you in a moment, dear." she said, tucking Ra'el's strand of rogue hair behind his ears, then walked Irelia away from the others' earshots.

"Of course. Now... What beckons your unsettled eyes, Irelia? Know that the Companions will be at your side." Sylvia inquired, tilting her head slightly.

Laure
59th Street, Dragonsreach, Haven
Worthlessplebian ​

"Perhaps for our next gathering, Master Preston. The Dragon Slayer's choice of alcohol is rather ... filled with sorrows than a day's praise, I'm afraid." muttered Laure softly, as she veered her eyes towards Markas with a concerned look.

Laure made for herself a certain position of respect among the companions not only as an adjutant, but also as the one who lets her commander in on the wellbeing of her peers. Being able to follow orders was one thing, but to keep in good spirits for their true cause was among the few often-times neglected factor that made the Company as it is today. Laure prided herself as Sylvia's friend, knowing full well of the latter's tendencies to shoulder responsibilities to the point of detrimental effects.

"Ah yes. I was just about to ask! I have recently taken a liking to LaRue's recent cover of the classic Upon Seyne compositions." Laure eyes widened, as she took a sip of the scotch.

Needless to say, Markas's alcoholic choices were questionable to say the least. But, it was not as bad as she presumed it to be like that of his homemade concoction during the Siege of Authie. The Dragonslayer's Firebomb, as they called it, was an abomination of whatever Markas could salvage on the field when alcohol was short on the frontlines. Never in her life, have she seen a man took a trench by himself for a mere sip. But now that whiskeys and scotch were within grasps in abundance, the Dragonslayer had chosen to drown himself in them.

"Come, let us remedy this whiskey-ridden union with some gleeful melodies. I am sure the Commander has a 'gramer lying about." Laure continued cheerfully, hurrying off to assist Preston in setting the atmosphere of the soiree with some tunes. If there was anything the Dovean and the Arachnoid have in common was their appreciation of music.

"By the by, it bothers me to see Markas dousing himself like that, perhaps you or Master Cissnei could shed some experienced purposes for the him? His current state worries me ever since our return from Saarema." she said to Preston, as they got out of Markas's earshot.

Irelia's Details ( Zariel ):
I. Sylvia reassured Irelia with the Company's support when the latter's words came forthwith. Irelia's future personal endeavors will be aided by Companions.

Preston's Details ( Worthlessplebian ):
I. The warm sensation of the Hibernian whiskey overstimulates his senses gradually, making him more focused than usual and perhaps... a bit wordy.

HARBINGERS ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Irelia - "Honesty Is The Best Policy"
Preston - "My Spider Senses Are Tingling..."
​

 

[Zariel]

Upon hearing Sylvia words, a soft smile curved Irelia's lips.

"I have no doubt that what you say is true," Irelia replied. "However, this is something I must tend to, alone.

"While I do not wish to dwell on the past, I have reason to believe an old friend has set foot in Dragonsreach. Earlier today, I was met by a stranger who delivered a message. He handed me a letter, enclosed by an unmistakable wax seal." the Faean paused, crossed her arms, and leaned back slightly. "It's the Oeki order, Syliva. They wish to meet with me tonight. I have my suspicions as to why they've finally come, but I'd prefer not to mention anything presumptively. I tell you this with the simple intention of informing you that I may have to cut my time here short."

Glancing over at the others enjoying themselves, Irelia gently swirled the contents in her glass before taking another sip.

"But I digress. You're quite the lucky woman, Sylvia." Irelia remarked, smirking subtly. "Your husband, Ra'el is devilishly handsome. Remind me again how it was that you two first met. I can recall being oddly surprised when I learnt that you were marrying a total stranger, at least from what little I knew. Actually, I can name at least a dozen soldiers who'd be willing to take your hand in marriage. I don't think I ever told you, but there was a time when one such soldier planned to taint your drink with an aphrodisiac... it was fortunate that I caught him in the act."

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
59th Street, Dragonsreach, Haven
Zariel Midrick Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Remembrance Nessi
​

There was a certain glimpse of hope in Sylvia's eyes. Hope to catch an opportunity to bag and drag, doing what she did best. It did not take long for that spark to be extinguished by Irelia's insistence on facing the Order by herself. This was the Swordmaiden's homecoming trial, not the Company's. A rousing speech of shared sweat and blood, and then a prayer before swift steels befell the less-fortunate. But it was a speech for another time, Sylvia thought.

"Very well. I suppose your fateful rendezvous with the Order may very well be our trial of faith. And I have every ounce of faith in you, Irelia." Sylvia replied simply.

Neither another push on the issue, nor dismal conjectures within herself. Such was hero's well-founded connections with her companions - boundless faith. Ironically, her adversary that fell from Mount Hornet was not an honorary recipient of said faith. The hypocritical absolutes of a hero, or so the woman in white coined it. Among those absolutes were the thousand-yard stares and tunnel visions that plagued her more than usual of late.

Upon Irelia's remark about Ra'el, however, it was as if Sylvia was shot back to reality. His mere name threw her off, as if the Angel of Verdan was reliving the final moment of the Sertek's demise. Instead of the coursing adrenaline and smeared ligaments atop a lonesome mountain, the hero's heart was merely entangled and knotted itself. An overwhelmingly dramatic and impulsive desire to melt into the man's arms. She envisioned it as the union of breadstick and cheese, a blessed synthesis of a delectable treat.

"He and I are not so different, despite our meagerly yielded time together. I felt as if I had known him long before. Alas, at the end of the day, his vibrant self is a reminder that we did our time over there, and it was not in vain. Perhaps you are right, I can't imagine letting Ra'el go." Sylvia said, eyeing Ra'el briefly from afar, then back at Irelia.

"Perhaps if I had taken their amatory agent, perhaps I might be able to display my emotions properly." she continued, turning the aphrodisiac remark into a dry quip.

"Besides, I might be too mundane for the squareback boys. They deserve far better than that. Hmm... I believe it's time for a toast, before I relinquish you to your reservations with the Order." Sylvia clinked her tumbler glass with Irelia's, then downed it in one gulp. Neither a wince nor a sour expression. Right now, she was starting to appreciate Markas's choices of alcohol. The melancholic selection for the fractured vessels.

Sylvia beckoned everyone's attention to the table at the slight jingle of the silverware in her hand against her refilled glass of whiskey.

"Companions. Friends and brethren-in-arms. It has been a long, tough road and I will be transparent. The Company has officially been deactivated, effective since this morning. While I could save you all the gloomy state of things, I cannot in my good conscience pervert the truth. But here I am, glad to have known every single one of you along the way. This soiree will not be for our fading vestige, but for a new beginning. I believe Preston and Eryn have sorted out their recent adjustments. Like those that braved the storm with us from Onyx to Hornet, t'is the time to move on with our lives. Here's to those that laid down their lives for Grozny, and the ones still carrying the torch for the counted days ahead.
Havena Aeterna." Sylvia made her toast, then chugged down her drink as the others do.

"Havena Aeterna!" Laure followed suit, raising her drink.

"Hey Ra'el. Miss hips-don't-lie over here spent an entire day for to pick out that dress for ya. Complements of our endeavors, so I suggest you best get on tha-..." Laure added, jabbing at Sylvia's choice of attire, not before being silenced by Sylvia's crimson glare.

"Oh hey, would you look at that! The tenders are done!" replied Laure, as she slid her way behind the counter, barely escaping Sylvia's commanding eyes.

Sylvia then turned towards Ra'el for the latter's reaction to Laure's remarks, curious as to what he has to say. All the while trying not to blush too heavily in vain.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Interactions: Pilgrim59

The wooden aroma emanated from the whiskey tickled the arachnoid's nasal hairs, reminding him of memories, now nostalgic, under the tutelage of his mentor. The bony plate that comprised his face lifted to reveal the horrid maw of sharpened teeth. With no lips to grip the glass, arachnoids had to use an alternative style of liquid consumption. This was mostly used when they ventured forth into heterogeneous societies. In their damp, dark under hives, the spider-like people conventionally used gelatinous foodstuff in the place of drinks. That is not to say they never drank any fluids but because of their disposition, they preferred to figuratively 'chew the water down.'

As the whiskey poured down the arachnid's throat, the receptors grew more sensitive with each milliliter. It 'burned' the spider's throat yet he did not flinch, simply savored the stimulus. As a doctor and surgeon, Preston knew why this alcoholic beverage produced such a sensation although he doubts anyone at the party would be interested in how exactly the whiskey primes the receptors in the esophagus to be more receptive to temperature differences.

Although another unique attribute when Preston consumed this particular beverage was the hyper-activation of his basic and even advanced senses such as proprioception and kinesthetic awareness.

The bubbly, hammer-wielding, little lass passed a comment about how she enjoyed LaRue's recent cover of a certain classic. Preston had not heard of composition and elected to acquire it later. "Regrettably, I have not yet had the pleasure of listening to such a fine melody. Fear not, for I shall get around to acquiring it. It will make a fine addition to my classical collection." The words pristinely pronounced yet had an aura of relaxation to them.

Laure had raised concerns over Markus' evident drinking habits, in fact, he shared those same concerns as it did not take an investigator to whiff out the smell of alcohol when he arrived at the brewery. "Yes, yes, our concerns align. It does pain me to see a colleague and comrade dismantle themselves through the gluttonous consumption of intoxicating drinks." As much as the arachnid wished to appear stoic, there is a subconscious agreement that he too is scarred by the war, mentally more so than physically.

"I'll make something of this, perhaps later."

Much later into the ceremony, his former commander and friend raised a toast to their futures. Havena Aeterna!" The arachnid exclaimed along with others. "and long live the Met Di Plurida..." He mumbled the last part to himself.

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
59th Street, Dragonsreach, Haven
Zariel Midrick Worthlessplebian Nessi
​

The night progressed slowly, as the Company shared drinks over the simplistic yet delectable cuisines conjured by Sylvia's husband. Little remarks here and there, accompanied by reluctant stories of their exploits. Sylvia studied her comrades, taking to heart their unfiltered thoughts. A ragtag band of distinguished individuals, far from the templates of the ideal image of the perfect Imperial soldier. The last bits of their humanity.

Eventually, Sylvia let Irelia out after their toast, honoring the Swordmaiden's private meeting with their associates. Needless to say, it pained Sylvia to not be able to lend a hand in the matter, but she understood. After years of braving the frontlines alongside her companions, her faith forr her comrades was what kept the Company from faltering. Laure had learnt it the hard way when the young Lawrence sought to break free from her over-protective guardianship. By denying him of his place to keep him from death, the pent up zeal eventually led him to his demise at Pegasus Bridge. A young aspiring knight, no more older than seventeen. Not a single day passes as Laure did not beat herself over it, only for Sylvia to reel her back in. Even then, she had to confront the Dragonslayer's inner demons. It eventually taught the Angel of Verdan that most battles must be fought on the individual's terms. An outsider's intervention will only belittle their progress, if not damaging their growth in the process.

When the party was over, Sylvia asked Laure to accompany the others home. She turned towards Ra'el as the others headed out the door.

"Markas has been quiet since his arrival. I fear his drunken state might invite troubles unsupervised. I shall accompany him home, while Laure tends to the others. I entrust you with the dishes, darling. I shall return soon, alongside our promised ... pillow talks." Sylvia said with a shy smile, before taking off, leaving the apartment in Ra'el's care.

"Heavy thoughts, Dragonslayer? I will relinquish the rest of this bottle to you only if you impart your woes with words. Lest your shrouded mind leads to dereliction." Sylvia caught up to Markas outside of the ground garden, persuading the man to talk to her in exchange for the Blackford Scotch bottle in her hand.

End of Episode 1: Nessi
Ra'el saw his wife and the other Companions off. Half an hour would pass him by, before he noticed a discrepancy in the corner of his eye. He turned towards the dim lit balcony. He stood petrified, as the short figure was tainted in blood and dirt. A surge of dark energy in form of red and purple hues quickly encircled Ra'el, constricting him tightly. Flashes of images and voices filled his mind, as he screamed in agony. Repitition of certain words cycled through his thoughts quite vividly. It echoed louder and louder.

...Realm...

...Eibsee...

...Mare...

...Edge...

...Mourn...

...Baron...

...Ethereal...

...Respite...

These words were etched into his head. Before long, the pained scream stopped, as the dark tendrils receded, and Ra'el stood there quietly. The mystic eventually lifted their head, unveiling their glowing amber eyes. They got on their knees and bowed before Ra'el.

"At long last ..."

"... Your humble servant hath awaited this very moment ..."

"... Your Junior Marshal of the Nightmare Corps greet you ...

... O' Exalted Lord Sertek."
​